Chapter 3 - The Fortune Teller
Louisa Sophia and A Legion of Sisters
“No, you cannot come in!” Eugénie yelled through the half-open door. She blocked entry into the lavatory and kept her back to Louisa. “She needs a moment. Here, use this.” She thrust a large-handled chamber pot out the door and waggled it.
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” Eugénie retracted her empty hand and slammed the door. With a quick spin, she pushed her back against the door as more knocks came. Through disheveled hair, she glared at Louisa. “We need to change your clan name from ‘Daring’ to ‘Idiot.’”
Louisa yawned and winked at her friend. “It wouldn’t be daring if it wasn’t scary.” She pulled her eyelids apart, forcing more tears into her eyes. “Slap me.”
Eugénie’s eyes lit up, and she took three quick steps toward Louisa while raising her hand. “With pleasure.” She smacked Louisa’s cheek.
Louisa’s face stung, and the tears came for real. “Damn, Gaiety. You enjoyed that.”
“Serves you right.” Eugénie blew a loose strand of hair from her face. “You forget that the rest of us can still get kicked out of St. Denis even if you can’t.”
Louisa nodded. “You’re right.” She put her hand on Eugénie’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Then she pushed her friend, who stumbled backward. “Hit me like that again, and I’ll break your nose.”
“Whatever. You said that the last time, too.” Eugénie turned toward the door. “Good luck.”
With a tsk, Louisa walked to the far stall. The long room had twenty semi-private areas along the inside wall. With hundreds of girls in the adjoining dormitory, the room bustled with activity just before and right after lights out each night. As Louisa entered the doorless cubicle with its short walls, several girls entered the lavatory.
“About time.”
“I’m about to burst.”
“Stupid Greek Bastard and her band of low-lifes.”
Louisa spun and glared at the mousy, brown-haired Suzette Defoye from behind the wall. The sour Defoy was one of Gabrielle’s hangers-on, and Louisa was not sorry that this would be the last month she had to deal with the terminale (final year student). Suzette jerked an arm up with a closed fist, her other hand in the crook of her elbow, forming the vulgar gesture. Then she ducked into the closest stall.
With a shake of her head, Louisa pulled up her dress. She yawned to keep the tears flowing before she sat on the wooden commode with its chamber pot under a round opening. She waited with her eyelids stretched wide and thought of the one thing that always made her sad.
In a low voice, Louisa sang a Greek song about lost love and remembered the day her mother died. A former taverna singer in Corfu City, her mother had sung the same song every day after Louisa’s father abandoned them. On the day her mother lost her fight with consumption, Louisa sang that song as her mom breathed her last.
The ambient sounds from the dormitory died down, signaling the entrance of a dame surveillante (faculty monitor), or, as Louisa suspected, the silence portended the appearance of the headmistress.
“She’s in the lavatory.”
A loud voice yelled into the room. “Louisa Sophia!”
“Coming, Mademoiselle!” Louisa yelled back. She stood, fixed her dress, and rushed to the tall mirror near the door.
She ran her hands down her bodice, straightening the black material. She would do what she always did when she faced discipline for breaking a commandment in the rule book. She put on a contrite face while emptying herself of any emotion and, in particular, pride. That way, she could take the most egregious blows to her ego without response or lasting effect. With one final vision of her mother’s face, she made sure a tear puddled on her cheek before entering the dormitory.
A small crowd of onlookers waited behind the headmistress near the lavatory exit. A hundred other girls stood or propped themselves up on their wire-framed beds, straining to listen. A few feet behind Madame Veuve Le Ray, Gabrielle frowned. A couple of steps behind the blonde, blue-eyed beauty, Le Jetons scowled.
You’re too stupid to catch me, Louisa thought. She laughed inside while keeping her face disconsolate.
Louisa curtsied to the headmistress, who waved her forward.
Madame Veuve Le Ray grabbed Louisa’s chin, inspecting one of her cheeks and then the other. “You missed roll call. What happened, child?”
Louisa let her eyes drift to the ground. “Nothing, Headmistress.”
With a gentle tug, the headmistress lifted Louisa’s chin to look her in the eye. The headmistress raised an eyebrow.
Louisa bit her lip, getting into character. “I had a small disagreement with one of my friends.”
“Who?”
Louisa shook her head.
“In a month, you will receive your terminale. Are you trying to lose your sash?”
“No, Headmistress,” Louisa whispered, putting as much regret as she could into her voice.
The headmistress leaned close and whispered into Louisa’s ear. “No matter how much trouble you cause, you will go on the Tour.”
Louisa cut off her gasp of surprise. Is she a gypsy?
“Wash your hands. They are starting to bleed. Again.”
Madame Veuve Le Ray straightened and raised her voice. “Tomorrow, instead of Chapel, you will find Mère de la Nativité and recite forty ‘Hail Mary’s while kneeling on beans.”
The headmistress turned to the exit, shaking her head and muttering to herself until she was out of earshot.